


Towers of Gold

by TakeTheShot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Established Relationship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I mean I cried but you might not, I'm sorry?, Like very established, Lord how do I tag this, Lots of MCU cameos, M/M, Nothing nasty, Phil and Clint are old, Sad fic but hopefully with redemption, Spoilers in end notes, bittersweet fluff, just feels, no graphic illness, no violence, phlint - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 05:43:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16034168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TakeTheShot/pseuds/TakeTheShot
Summary: It's been a long time since they were Agent Coulson and Hawkeye. But they're always Phil and Clint. And even here, after everything, here, at the end, Clint will never, ever have had enough.This is a bittersweet, sad fic with redemption that I wrote with the express intention of making you cry. The idea killed me, so I decided to share. Here, you guys have it. I'm sorry.





	Towers of Gold

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what happened here. I didn't plan this. This damn idea just dropped into my head today while I was at work and then refused to go away until I'd written it out. And all I can to my stupid brain is: Thanks, I hate it. 
> 
> It made me want to cry so naturally I decided I wanted to share it with you guys, I do apologise. Though I have tried to redeem myself at the end with some happy. So don't stop reading at the gap!
> 
> The title I pinched from the Greatest Showman song, 'Never Enough' -  
> "Towers of gold are still too little  
> These hands could hold the world but it'll  
> Never be enough,  
> Never be enough....for me"
> 
> I don't want to add spoilers here but there are some in the end notes if you want to know the plot and exactly why the archive warning is there.
> 
> So anyway, it's after 4.30am and this is for you. Enjoy x

>>===>>

Clint opened his eyes.

The bedroom was softly dark with dull morning light just breaking through the curtains and, as usual, Phil was there and smiling at him.

“Wake up sweetheart, rise and shine, it’s a brand new day. I brought your breakfast up. Just a treat.”

“Sure,” Clint groaned, attempting to push himself upright against the pillows, “and I suppose this treat has nothing to do with the fact that I haven’t been able to get out this stupid bed before noon in weeks, does it?” He stalled halfway up, let down by arms that shook instead of following his orders and started to slump back, hissing in annoyance. Hearing it, Phil put down the tray he’d brought and hurried over, slid an arm around him and lifted his weight. Once he had the pillows plumped and Clint settled against them, the various tubes and lines running to the bed arranged to his liking, Phil dropped a kiss into Clint’s wild hair.

“Of course it doesn’t. It has everything to do with how cute you are with bed head and my morning craving for sweet oatmeal. Alright?”

He looked so earnest that Clint reluctantly smiled. “Alright. Do I get a proper good morning as well?” He stretched up best he could until Phil smiled back and kissed him softly on the lips. Clint hummed in satisfaction and kept up the warm press as long as he could manage, way past the point where his neck and back protested. He was still smiling when he had to break away, “Now that’s good morning. Oh, my love, if I was forty years younger….”

Phil laughed and picked up the tray, settling on the bed and propping it over Clint’s legs. “If we were both forty years younger then I doubt either of us would be getting out of bed before noon….possibly midnight. Now eat up before this gets cold.”

“Bossy.” Clint carefully picked up his spoon and took a scoop. He had it halfway to his mouth when his hand spasmed, shaking and sending the oatmeal sliding off, dripping down onto the bedspread. “Aw, oatmeal, no,” he moaned, face crumpling, “Damn. Sorry Phil.”

“No problem sweetheart, that’s why we have a washing machine. Let me get that.” He reached out and took the spoon, dropping it back in the bowl while he swiped up the mess.

Clint stared down at his hand where they lay, trembling, thin and gnarled in his lap. The things he used to be able to do with those hands, the buildings he’d climbed, arrows he’d shot, lives he’d saved, and now he couldn’t even manage a spoon. All those hero moments, and it wasn’t enough. He sighed bitterly. “It wasn’t meant to go down like this you know. All those S.H.I.E.L.D. missions and Avengers gigs, all that danger. I always figured I’d go out in a blaze of glory, doing something cool like taking out a super-villain or saving a bus full of pre-schoolers and puppies. Maybe even get a statue in my honour or something, go out a hero. Not as an old man stuck in bed, beaten by a bunch of mutating cells, turned into a bundle of sticks and skin and fucking uselessness.”

“Clinton Francis Barton.” Phil fixed him with a stern glare. “You’re not useless. You’re sick.”

“I’m old.”

“And I’ve got seven years on you so just watch who you’re calling old, you whippersnapper.”

“Whippersnapper.” Clint chuckled wryly, “It’s been a while since either of us was one of them.” He reached for Phil’s hand. “I’m sorry love, I don’t mean to be such a grumpy asshole. Thank you for breakfast. It was just a bad night.”

“Pain?” Phil was instantly concerned. “Do you need more meds?”

He shook his head. “No, not yet, they make me too fuzzy. It wasn’t the pain, anyway, just…I wandered into dark thoughts I guess. I just wonder, sometimes, what it’ll be like, when…when…well, you know. When my ‘time’ comes.” Clint’s face clouded over, the remnants of his laugh dropping away as a delicate tremor ran through him.

Phil was there immediately, leaning in, holding both of Clint’s hands in one of his, cupping his cheek with the other. He looked at Clint with a gaze that was steady and open, if a little damp, “Hey, hey, none of that. It’s too nice a day for thinking like that. See?” He nodded towards the window where edges of the curtain gleamed gold with determined sunshine. “Besides,” and now his tone was warm, serious, his old ‘operations’ voice, “you’ll be fine sweetheart, I promise. When it comes, it’ll be fine. It’s easy. I’ve done it before, remember? Nothing to it. You’ll be just fine.”

“What about you?” Clint’s voice cracked a little on the question.

“Me? I’ll take care of you and then I’ll worry about me.”

Clint squeezed Phil’s hand between his as best he could. “I worry about you.”

“I know you do. You’ve always had my back. That’s one of the reasons I love you so.” Phil straightened up, swiping at his eyes, “Come on, we’ve got today, so let’s get it started. Lukewarm oatmeal?” Picking the spoon back up he waggled it at Clint, “I slaved over a hot microwave for this you know.”

“Okay, okay, I suppose I can’t have to wearing your fingers to the bone for nothing. But you’d better drive the spoon. And none of that ‘here comes the Quinjet’ nonsense with it this time, I’m warning you!” 

Phil laughed at Clint’s indignation and the heaviness of the moment was broken. They ate through the bowls in companionable silence, trading bites, sharing the spoon. It was nice, soothing. Clint found he was full after about half what Phil had brought but was surprised when Phil pushed his away too.

“You okay?”

“I’m good, sweets. Just a feeling a bit off. I’ll have something else later.”

“You’d better.” Phil clattered the tray away and Clint watched him fussing fondly. “Actually, I’m glad I missed out on the blaze of glory. Maybe I didn’t get a statue, and this might not exactly be my favourite bit of it, but retiring has been good to us. There’s not been enough of it, but it has.”

Phil rewarded him with a genuine smile, “It has. Not that I didn’t enjoy us working together. You, me, Nick, May, Nat, The Bus, The Avengers. It was the time of my life and I loved every minute. But having you to myself these past few years has been wonderful too.”

“Not that they’ve exactly been quiet either, have they?”

Now Phil even laughed properly, “They have not. Do you remember that summer Tony told us he was taking us to a carnival but when he picked us up it turned out he meant the actual carnivale in Rio? And he’d arranged a float?”

Clint grinned, “Do I remember? Seeing you do the samba in that costume was the very pinnacle of the decade. I spent the whole time watching your ass in those tight pants. No seventy year-old has ever been thrown so many beads!”

For the next hour they wandered pleasantly and haphazardly down memory lane together, every recollection leading to another, both major and minor:  
The day they met at S.H.I.E.L.D.  
The opulent and over-the-top birthdays celebrated in Avenger’s Tower, especially Cap and Bucky’s One-Hundred-and-Fiftieth where the combined candles had set off the fire-retardant system and turned the event into a foam party.  
The first Christmas in their own house where they’d rolled in from a mission in Stuttgart at 4am on December 25th with nothing but a plug-in fibre-optic tree and no presents for each other but the heat and need of their own bodies.  
Dancing the last dance in each other’s arms at Nat and Bruce’s wedding and finally, finally doing the same at Tony and Pepper’s.  
Facing heavy fire together and knowing without doubt that each would give their life to get the other out.  
Endless nights of doing paperwork in silence and others lying entangled under the stars.  
Finding out how lovely Budapest could be when you were there as a tourist and not an agent.  
Losing loved ones, holding each other and crying until they didn’t know whose sobs were whose.  
Clapping like fools at Daisy’s promotion celebration.  
The wonderfully fun but near disastrous time they’d spent a weekend babysitting FitzSimmon’s three and almost had to redecorate the entire bottom floor of the house because chocolate spread apparently did not wipe off wallpaper. Or carpets. Or, unfortunately, original 1940’s propaganda posters.  
Countless quiet mornings and afternoons walking, reading, shooting targets for fun or just being in each other’s company. 

So many days. So many, and never, ever enough.

The memories hung between them and around them, lustrous and shining like pearls on a string. Each one a gift, a treasure. 

Too soon, Clint found himself exhausted. He tried to hide it but Phil noticed, saw it in the lines of his face.

“I’m wearing you out. Tell you what, I’ll open the these so you can see the view while you have a rest. I need to pop down to the store anyway. Kate’s coming this afternoon and we’ve no milk for her tea. I’ll only be five minutes.”

Phil rose and pulled the curtains open, flooding the room with sudden brightness. He stood, framed against the light, sunshine streaming around his shoulders, skimming his hips and Clint had to hold in a gasp. Highlighted like this he could see how much smaller Phil had become, how fragile, the jacket of his still-beloved suit hanging lose like a child playing with his father’s clothes. Highlighted like this, Clint could clearly make out the extra lines carved into his face by the years, the age spots on his hands, the porcelain-thin, delicate fineness of his pale skin, the exhausted darkness under his eyes. Highlighted like this, Phil had no secrets. He’d never looked older.

He had never, ever been more beautiful. 

Clint choked on the sudden lump in his throat. Phil. His frame was still steady, spine straight, eyes clouded but bright and his smile was still, always and forever, full of kindness and love. 

Highlighted like this, Phil was gilded and Clint realised how very ironic that was, because really it was him who had had his life made golden, who had been so very lucky as to meet and win and love this man. 

Milk could wait. He held out a hand. “Don’t go, Phil. You’re tired too. Kate won’t mind fetching her own milk. Stay with me for a bit.”

Phil turned back from the window. “Always, love.” He shuffled onto the bed next to Clint, avoiding the tubes and bags and lines, curling up into his side as if this were any other cuddle in their long, long life. “Maybe I will rest for a bit. Much as I love her, Kate can require a lot of energy.”

“Don’t I know it.” Clint yawned and hugged an arm round Phil as best as he was able. “Sleep then. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Phil’s only answer was a smile and a lightly blown kiss which Clint caught and pressed to his lips before sending one back. He took the smile down with him into the welcoming dark.

>>===>>

Clint opened his eyes.

The light in the room was mellower, the shine early afternoon instead of early morning, the bright sunshine given way to a shower of rain. They’d slept for hours. Clint groaned a little, shifting under Phil’s weight. Phil was still sleeping snug against him, one arm thrown across Clint’s waist, his hand curled over his hip. His eyes were closed and his lips curved in just the tiniest smile and Clint felt a swell of fondness, happiness even, that Phil could still, even in the middle of all this, dream peacefully. Clint was glad.

But the room was so quiet despite the tapping of rain. And Phil was so still. So very, very, so definitely, still. 

Clint watched him for a while, brought all his recently neglected Hawkeye vision to bear on his husband even though he already knew in his heart what he would see. 

Nothing.

Slowly, Clint raised a trembling finger and traced a soft line down Phil’s face, from his forehead to the curve of that smile.

Not cold, but cool. Cooling. 

Not Phil. Not there.

Something essential cracked in Clint’s chest and he felt it draining, slipping away. It weighed his limbs, made his heart float. “Oh Phillip J Coulson,” Clint whispered softly with mixed fondness and frustration, “you always did have to scout ahead didn’t you? Check every exit route before I could get there. We argued about it so many times. Couldn’t you have just let me do it? When I’m more than halfway there already? Just this once?”

He hadn’t had long enough. It would never have been long enough. Tears gathered in his eyes and ran unnoticed down his cheeks, falling on the bedspread, spotting the purple and mixing with the oatmeal stain from breakfast. He thought about phones. His mobile was uncharged, Phil’s would be god knows where and the ancient landline was plugged way out in the hall where it did little besides amuse visiting kids. All of them were too far away for Clint to reach, even if he could have borne leaving Phil. Which he couldn’t. He felt no real need to call anyone anyway. No urgency. Phil was gone and it was quite possible that nothing would ever be urgent ever again.

Clint slowly, laboriously, slid down the bed and wrapped Phil up as close as he could manage. There was nothing left to do except hold on, so he did. Pressing his cheek to Phil’s colder one he willed the warmth of his body to cross over into Phil’s, to pass back all the devotion and care Phil had given him, to let him share the love they’d had for just that bit longer. One last act, the last thing he could do for the man who had made his life and been his life. He kissed Phil once on the forehead as he had done so many times before and let his eyes close. 

The stillness filled the room, flowing softly out from the bed to each corner and taking away all outside noise. Even the rain on the window, heavier now, faded into the background. At some point alarms pinged, machines wanting to be fed, or changed, turned off or on. Clint ignored them until they stopped. He held on to Phil and listened to the stillness. Eventually the only noise was the slow, steady beat of his own heart and the light huff of his breath.

And soon enough, not even that.

>>===>>

Kate, when she arrived late that afternoon, found them that way, wrapped in silence and wrapped in each other. Even as she crumpled into the pool of dropped milk that spread out around her feet and began to sob, she knew she had never seen anything so awful. Or so perfect.

>>===>>

 

 

>>===>>

 

 

>>===>>

 

 

Clint opened his eyes.

The space he was lying in was bright with light the exact shade of a perfect spring morning and, as usual, Phil was there and smiling at him.

Clint blinked and swallowed hard.

Phil just smiled all the wider. “Hey there my love. That wasn’t as bad as you expected, was it? I told you it was easy.”

The light tone made Clint frown, scrunching his whole face up. “And I told you to stay with me.”

“It’s not like I went far!” Phil laughed gently and offered his hand. “And besides, it didn’t take you much time to follow me.”

Clint took it and allowed himself to be pulled up, rising in one smooth motion and wrapping his arms around Phil, sliding them under his suit jacket, clutching and wrinkling the crisp shirt. He buried his nose in the warm crook of Phil’s neck and breathed the wonderful smell of home. “Time without you? It felt like forever.”

Phil’s arms tightened around him in a strong embrace. “I’m happy to see you too.”

They held the hug for a long moment and then Clint mumbled into Phil’s neck, “So, me and you, we’re….”

Phil nodded. “Yes, I think we are.”

“And this is…”

“I would imagine so, yes.”

“Wow.” Clint lifted his head and looked around a little, then pulled back to stare at Phil, even as his hands began to roam a little under the jacket, rediscovering. “It looks good on you.”

And it did. Phil was still standing tall and straight but he’d filled out again, the line of his jacket testament to the finely honed flesh that lay once more under Clint’s hands. His gorgeous face was fresh, largely unlined, eyes bright blue, hair dark and a little bit longer. He looked exactly as Clint always saw him, how he pictured him in his mind’s eye, but how he hadn’t been in reality for a good few decades. Phil as Clint had first fallen for him. Phil basked under Clint’s appraisal and then nodded significantly in his direction, “You’re not doing too badly yourself love.” 

And it was true. Even without looking Clint could feel that the familiar shapes of his young body had returned, swelled and snapped back into line, muscles suddenly pressing at his uniform in all the right places. He was breathing easier, his balance was better, and he knew instinctively that if he wanted to he’d be able to turn a back flip, dance on a pinhead or draw a two hundred pound bow and hit a bull’s-eye at any distance anyone could care to name. He grinned. “Awesome.”

“What’s the point of an afterlife if you don’t get to enjoy it?” Phil asked, breaking the embrace to hold Clint’s hand and tug him forward, “Come on, we should find out where we are. Go exploring a bit.”

“You don’t know?” Clint teased, “Agent Coulson doesn’t know? Mr I’ve-done-this-before?”

Phil rolled his eyes, “I never got this far last time, remember? Besides, I wanted to wait for you.” He tugged again, “Shall we?”

“Hold on, there’s still exploring I want to do here thank you…” Clint pulled, whipping Phil back into his arms for a long slow kiss, “After all, you did say, if we were forty years younger we would spend the whole day in bed. And, given that we actually appear to be…”

Phil squeaked as Clint squeezed him possessively. “Do you ever think about anything else?” he asked, mock annoyed.

Clint screwed up his face as evidence of his hard thinking and then squeezed Phil again. “You,” he growled, “I think about you.”

Phil’s face lit up and he gave Clint a warm kiss of his own. “You’re a big softie Agent Barton. But you’re not getting out of this one. We should go see where we are.” His eyes narrowed and he gave Clint a sly sidelong look, “Lola is bound to be out there somewhere. Nick. Lucky. Nat…”

The last almost broke Clint’s resolve, but he had a card of his own to play. “Tony Stark…”

Phil winced then threw up his hands, laughing, beaten. “Alright, alright, you win. Maybe we should stay here for a while. Get accustomed to the place. I imagine we have time to spare.”

“Awesome.” Clint’s smile glittered wickedly and he was already pulling at the knot of Phil’s tie, “Out of interest, exactly how much time do you think we have? How long are you stuck with me for?”

Phil’s hands drifted to the buckles of Clint’ tac vest as he replied, “Oh, I don’t know, but I would imagine…eternity? I hope that’s alright with you.”

The light swelled as Clint gently lowered Phil to the soft floor and covered the new, familiar body with his own. He leaned in to nibble along Phil’s jaw and revelled in the soft gasp elicited when he reached his earlobe and bit. “I guess we can make do.”

And they did.

Clint. Phil. Eternity.

It was finally enough

>>===>>

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS: 
> 
> The story opens when Clint and Phil are old, Clint is sick (nothing graphic but some description of illness), dying and Phil is nursing him. They discuss death (briefly and through inference) and then sleep. During the sleep, Phil dies unexpectedly and Clint follows him. Again, nothing is described physically or in detail. They meet in an afterlife (non-specific!). If any of this bothers you particularly, read on your own recognisance x


End file.
